Tokyo Noir
by JGenneX
Summary: I am a cop working for the Tokyo Police Department. Everything's fine, until this boy from the school where Serah teaches goes missing. Suddenly, I am faced with something that goes far beyond my comprehension, almost paranormal perhaps. While I find out what's going on, I have my own problems to solve. Gosh, who in the world will help me?
1. Chapter 1: Emptiness

**Chapter 1: Emptiness**

Some say Tokyo is a haven where people and technology coexist in harmony; some say it is a crime-free city where civilians are safe to roam outside their homes until the wee hours of the morning; others say it is the one of the cornerstones of the advanced world alongside the United States and China.

I say that Tokyo is none of these.

As much as Tokyo can be labelled a 'dream city', truth to be told, it's not as utopian as a foreigner would think. People use technology, yes, but deep down, they want to have a respite from all the lit-up screens and annoying sounds that come with it. Crime rates are just as high as any city in the developed world, a day never going by without raping and kidnapping cases appearing in the newspaper. As for its position in the developed world, I'm not so sure myself. What I do know is that the city's shinny exterior is slowly crumbling… from the inside.

My colleagues call me Farron. Hardly anyone addresses me by my first name. I work for the Tokyo Police Department, doing all the dirty work to keep Tokyo and her people safe. It's ardous, but someone's gotta do it. Kind to think of it, I rather enjoy my job. My most memorable cases often involved huge drug busts and intense shootouts. Occasionally, a few convicts escape our net, but when we catch them, it's simply rewarding. Poor saps though: they would have to do their time behind bars.

I sit in the armchair by the window of my apartment unit, watching the afternoon rain as I swing my crossed legs rhythmically to and fro. On my lap is a Haruki Murakami paperback that I had purchased at a Kinokuniya some time back. I hadn't had the time to read it since I was so busy before this, and now that I am on my annual break, I have all the time in the world. Even so, there were just too many distractions in my head that forced me to look up from the book and stare into space while I sorted things out. Some break this is turning out to be.

Beyond the rivulets of raindrops that covered the window glass, I could see the congested highway. It must have moved a little the last time I glanced at the window, but my immediate thought now is that none of the vehicles had advanced in the last half hour. Everything just seems frozen in time, like insect specimens trapped in amber, unchanging throughout the ages.

Returning to my book, I read a few lines of text and stopped. I feel something tugging inside me, a feeling not alien to me, but discomforting all the same. I look around my room, but that only made the tugging sensation even worse. Placing the paperback onto the cushioned seat of the armchair as I arose, I make my way to the kitchen.

From the cabinet, I take a packet of instant coffee, tear the seal and dump its contents into a black mug. I pour hot water from the kettle and stir the solution thoroughly. I sip the coffee nice and slowly, relaxing my tense shoulders and flopping onto one of the wooden chairs I left lying around. As I drain my drink, the feeling somewhat subsides, but it still gnaws at me. I sigh, clamber over to the sink and wash the mug.

That's the last time I'm read Murakami on a rainy day. Any avid fan of the master of surrealist fiction would know that his works often incorporated lonely characters in a crowded world. Having read a few pages of a particularly disturbing chapter in one of his books, I began thinking. Not to say that I don't usually think, but I hardly ever ponder so deeply. Normally, I would have preferred to talk to someone about something that bothered me. At this very moment, however, I am alone.

Serah, my younger sister, had moved out several months ago to start a new life with her husband. I can only sadly recall the day she left, with her boxes of possessions all stacked up in the trunk of the car, all ready to go. She was to live somewhere downtown, within 30 minutes by car. Not too far, but still a considerable distance. As I watched her go through her checklist, I could barely smile. Smiling… something I could never quite do naturally, let alone during those last few moments I had with her before she went her way. I tried to smile for Serah, to show her how happy I was for her, but in my heart, I wept terribly.

Heading back to the living room, I pass by the door to Serah's bedroom and noticed that it is slightly ajar. I steal a peep into the semi-dark interior. The room is just the way Serah had left it, albeit a little dusty. I could have converted it into a guestroom, but I don't have any friends or relatives from out of town who wish to stay overnight at my place. Like I have any friends outside Tokyo or any relatives besides Serah.

Sluggishly, I head back to the living room and switch on the TV. A news programme is on, showing footage of victims of an illegal sex syndicate covering their faces as they cower from the camera. I've handled such cases myself before, and I know how shaken up the victims can be when you find them. The trauma a victim faces after any crime is perhaps more damaging psychologically than the physical wounds, if there are any, inflicted.

The video on the TV screen transitions to a female newscaster, who appears rather bored as she reads out the next piece of news. An image of a young boy – a teenager perhaps – pops on screen with the word '**MISSING**' on the bottom. He had strange grey hair and emerald green eyes on his rather pallid complexion.

"A boy by the name of Hope Estheim, 14, is reported missing," said the newscaster in a monotonous voice. "His single father reported him missing after he failed to return home after school yesterday. He was last seen at Chibuya High School by his schoolmates. Police are currently conducting a thorough investigation on the matter."

Chibuya High School… That kind of rings a bell. Isn't that the name of the school where Serah is teaching? If that's right, then a student from her school is now missing. I'll know about more about it sooner or later, be it from tomorrow's newspaper or from Serah herself.

As if on queue, my smartphone rings. I reach into my pocket and withdraw it. Without looking at the screen to check the caller ID, I answer my phone. "Hello?"

Serah's voice literally yelps into my ear. "Lightning! Is your TV on? Have you watched the news?"

"Wow, wow! Slow down, Serah." I attempt to sound as calm as possible, suppressing the urge to get caught up and excited. "Does whatever you want to tell me have to do with a missing student from your school?"

"Yes! Hope, one of my favourite students. I can't believe he's missing!"

"Look Serah," I say exasperatedly, "I am on my annual break now. I need to get some much-needed rest. Besides, the police are handling the matter. You can trust my colleagues."

"I know, I know." Serah sounds a little disappointed. "It's just that this happened a little too suddenly. I have to tell someone about it as soon as possible. How else am I supposed to cope?"

"Can't you tell Snow? He's your husband!"

"But you're my sister."

I am about to say something but I stop myself. I should at least hear Serah out. Maybe she misses me as much as I miss her.

"Alright. Tell me anything. I'm all ears."

I sense Serah hesitate for a moment before continuing. "Hope is a great student. He's brighter than the rest, but most of the time, he just keeps to himself. I try to coax him out of his shell once in a while, and when he does, he mixes well with the others. Never in my life would I have thought that he'd go missing."

"Sounds like a charming boy." As much as I could have remained ignorant, I had to show some concern. "You must have been close to him."

"Very," mumbles Serah.

We went on talking about the kid, how he was picked at and made fun of, how he first approached Serah for help and the wonderful Teacher's Day gift he had given her. He would smile and greet Serah with a "Good Morning, Miss Farron" before heading off to class. I wondered if a student could have such a bond with his teacher. I looked up to many of my former teachers, but somehow, I always maintained a healthy distance from them. I have heard of many student-teacher relationships that ended in disaster.

"So," says Serah, changing the subject, "how are you doing, Lightning?"

"Fine as always," I say bluntly. "Catching up on some reading, actually. You and Snow settling down well?"

"More or less, I guess. It's just different without you, you know?"

_Ding-dong!_

"I understand. Hey, my doorbell's ringing. Call you next time, okay?"

"Okay," says Serah reluctantly. "Sooner the better."

We say goodbye to each other and hang up. Whoever ringing the doorbell must be pretty impatient. I heard it ring three more times following the first one. I walk over to the front door and peer down the peephole. I see some girl with cherry-coloured hair glancing about her, looking nervous. I latch the door with the small chain and open it wide enough for me to talk to the girl.

"Who are you and what do you want?" I ask, frowning slightly.

The girl jumps and looks fearfully into my eyes. She gulps and shifts her weight from one foot to the other. "I am Vanille Oerba," she says, her squeaky voice somewhat quivering. "I am looking for Miss Serah Farron's sister."

"I am her sister, yes." I purse my lips. "What do you want to see me about?"

"Something urgent. I'll need some time. Just please let me in and I'll explain everything."


	2. Chapter 2: Awakening

**Chapter 2: Awakening **

Even with the heater cranked up to the highest, I shiver uncontrollably. Vanille has slept on the couch, all warm and wrapped up in the spare blanket from one of the cupboards. She has a peaceful appearance on her face, an appearance all kids have when they drift off into their dreams. The real world is too harsh, too terrible to face, and even the bravest of men struggle in an effort to come to terms with it. Young people have it easy, oblivious to the cares of reality. Sometimes, I did wish that I was still immature, naïve and childish. Being a responsible adult sucks most of the time.

What Vanille had told me sent a chill down my spine earlier. I try to recall the conversation we had, but I forgot most of it because it some parts of it are simply too disturbing. I have to do something to clear my already cluttered head. I need to relax a little, maybe.

I splash some water on my face in the bathroom and look into the mirror. My reflection shows a woman who had overworked herself too much, being a workaholic and all. She didn't bother to give herself a makeover, despite her sister persuading her to do so more times than she could count. Never the one to pamper herself with useless luxury, this woman sought pleasure in labour and hard work. Now, stress had taken its toll, and she seemed utterly exhausted.

I take out my headphones, plug it to my smartphone and listen to some oldies. I lie on my bed, allowing myself to be one with the music, humming to the tune and muttering the lyrics here and there. This is way better than jamming your ear with what people listen to nowadays. My parents used to play this kind of music all the time on the car radio, and I somehow naturally learned to enjoy it.

Once I have enough, I proceed to think through some of the things Vanille had said. These are not the exact words, but the conversation went about something like this:

**VANILLE**: You know Hope? The boy who's missing?

**ME**: Yeah. He's my sister's student.

**VANILLE**: Well, he's been taken… by some people. [Looks down] Well, sorta…

**ME**: What do you mean?

**VANILLE**: How do I put it? [Hesitates] They weren't human.

**ME**: Wait… They weren't human?

**VANILLE**: They looked all strange and spindly and bizarre, all at the same time. Like some crazy, deformed aliens. They really scared me.

**ME**: Look… Uh, what was your name again?

**VANILLE**: Vanille.

**ME**: Look Vanille, as much as I want to believe you, I honestly say I don't. How did you get to know Hope in the first place?

**VANILLE**: I've been classmates with him since last year. He's one of my good friends. We hang out at school a lot.

**ME**: I assume Miss Farron – who, by the way, got married not too long ago and I have no idea why you call her 'miss' when you should be calling her 'madam' – is your teacher, am I right?

**VANILLE**: My Biology teacher, as a matter of fact.

**ME**: Did she tell you to look for me in the first place?

**VANILLE**: Something like that. I called her and she said she was too emotionally distraught to talk things over. She instead gave me your address, saying that you could probably do something about this.

**ME**: Figures. I know as much as what you know. I'm literally in the dark.

**VANILLE**: But Miss Farron told me you are a policewoman with the Tokyo Police. Can't you go and investigate Hope's disappearance?

**ME**: Sure, once my break is over. The other policemen are handling the situation pretty well as for now. Why don't you tell me how your friend got kidnapped – if you could call it kidnap – by these weird alien creatures?

**VANILLE**: It happened on our way home from school. Hope was cracking this hilarious joke when, all of a sudden, two of the creatures came rushing out of an alley, wailing and running towards us like a madman. One of them grabbed me by the hair and I screamed at the top of my lungs. I closed my eyes and began punching and kicking wildly, too afraid to even look at the thing, whatever it was. Under my blows, the creature made belching noises and splattered goo onto my face, which made it all the worse. Then, it shoved me to the ground and left me there. When I finally opened my eyes, I just managed to see Hope being snatched away by the two of them.

**ME**: Just like that?

**VANILLE**: [Nods] Just like that…

Vanille then took out a handkerchief from her pocket and unfolded it. It was smeared with a sticky, mucus-like substance. I wanted her to get rid of it, but instead put on some rubber gloves, took the disgusting piece of cloth from Vanille and stowed it in a sealable bag. It might come in handy as evidence.

We talked a little while longer and I found out that Vanille is living with a guardian as she had lost her parents for some unknown reason. She's just like Serah and me, minus the guardian though. I had to be the sole breadwinner when our parents were gone, making sure that Serah and I got the best out of what meager salary I earned from the part-time job I went to after school.

I go over to the couch and wake Vanille up. She rubs her eyes and yawns, giving me an approving nod and wriggling out of the blanket to place her feet firmly onto the floor. I hand her some biscuits from the kitchen pantry and she eats them heartily.

"Okay, now that you have taken your nap," I said nicely, "are you going to go home soon?"

Vanille swallowed. "What's the rush? My curfew is until eight o'clock."

I check the digital clock on the wall. It says 7.23. The curtains are already drawn but I know it's quite dark outside. I should probably call a taxi to send Vanille home later. It's not safe for a girl her age to be out in the open like that this late an hour.

"What's that book over there?" asks Vanille, pointing to the paperback I had left on the armchair. "Can I read it?"

"When you grow a little older, maybe." I smirk nonchalantly. "Murakami's not for children. It's an adult novel."

"That's a shame." Vanille crosses her arms. "Why do they have to rate everything these days? Anything age-appropriate, then?"

"Not that I can think of. I would be happy to give you a short synopsis of the book, though."

"Nah, forget it. It could be too deep for me to understand."

Never judge a book by its cover. Time and time again we have heard this wise saying. Vanille, if you didn't heed to my warning and just went ahead and read it anyway, I assure you, you will enjoy it. The book, _1Q84 _is about two individuals who find themselves in a parallel world with two moons in the sky. They don't know how the hell they got there, but they do know that they are in a world depicted in a book initially written by queer girl by the penname of Fuka-Eri, a world where strange beings called the 'Little People' take strands of white threads from thin air and weave them into an 'air chrysalis'.

I always liked the idea of parallel universes. They open up numerous possibilities, each one either horrifying or wonderful or both at the same time. Imagine a universe where Serah is not my sister and we are standing on opposite sides of the street, waiting for the traffic lights to signal for pedestrians to cross the road. We'll walk past each other at the zebra crossing without the smallest acknowledgement towards the other party, as complete strangers do, having no idea whatsoever that we are indeed related in another alternate reality. Now that's cool.

"So… you think you can find Hope?" Vanille gazes thoughtfully at me. "I'm worried sick."

"Hopefully…" I shake my head. "I'm still trying to grasp what you told me a little while ago."

"What I told you," said Vanille, getting up, "is a hundred percent true. Period. Hope's in trouble and I can only pray for his safety."

"What if something's already happened to him? What if he's –"

"Dead? No, I _believe_ that he's still alive. I just know it."

I call up a taxi and make sure Vanille gets on it. As I watch the taxi speed off down the wet streets, I wonder how this girl can remain positive despite all the odds. Perhaps it's just mindset differences. Perhaps I'm too negative a great deal of the time. Perhaps I've lost hope on even the simplest things…

Once I enter my unit, I make myself dinner before dialing up the police office. My annual break is about to be cut short.


	3. Chapter 3: Statement

**Chapter 3: Statement**

"You're back early."

Detective Katzroy smiles solemnly as I walk through the threshold of the double glass doors of the Shunko District Police Office, dressed in my police uniform and all. A slightly muggy smell caresses my nose, but I've grown used to it. Everything is the same as I had left last Monday, the office setup somewhat untidy but systematic and acceptable. The other policemen appear surprised, raising eyebrows and whispering something unintelligible to one another. It's never easy being one of the very few female members in the police force.

"Something came up, Sazh," I said, teasing him. "I couldn't possibly sit around while you have all of the fun."

"Is it that Esteim kid's abduction that you're interested in?"

"Maybe."

Sazh makes a face at me. "Whadaya mean 'maybe'?"

"Maybe I _am_ interested in the case. There's no ambiguity to it."

While Sazh tries to comprehend what I had just said, Chief Officer Yoyuri Mizu, the head of this police office instructs the police members to assemble at the meeting room in ten minutes. "Yes, sir!" we answer him in unison, more out of habit than obligation to do so.

Mizu, a stout and elderly man with years of experience, looks at his inferiors appreciatively before disappearing into his private quarters. He's been working here for as long as anyone can remember. Practically everyone has at least one good or bad memory associated with Mizu. One of my fondest memories with him is during my early years as a policewoman, where he took me under his wing, training and guiding and molding me to become the officer I am today.

A woman with messy black hair enters the premises and approaches me. She stares at me intently with beady eyes. "You Officer Farron?"

I nod. "Yes."

"The name's Fang Yun. I s'pose Vanille came to see you yesterday?"

"She did." I cock my head. "I assume that you are her guardian?"

"Yeah," Fang says, scratching her chin. "Sorry if she caused any trouble. She lied to me 'bout going over to a friend's house."

Sazh gives me a sideways glance. "A child came over to your place?"

"She's a teenager," snaps Fang, "hardly a child anymore."

I roll my eyes at Sazh. Whoever comes to my house is none of his business. I turn to Fang. "Why are you here?"

"Partly to apologize for Vanille's intrusion into your place, and partly to get her to record her statement. She was the only witness who saw poor Hope being taken away by who-knows-what. Vanille has remained quite tight-lipped with all this. She won't budge. Good luck getting anything out of her."

I find myself bemused. Vanille had blurted out almost everything I needed to know. If she has anything to hide, the cop who questions her will know. Any of our cops can sense something amiss when they interrogate a witness or a suspect in a case, as they have been trained in this sort of thing. If you know the right technique, you'd be startled at how bad people are at obscuring or distorting the truth.

"Where is Vanille, anyway?" I ask.

"In the car," Fang waves a hand towards the glass doors, where, just across the road, a crimson Toyota is parked. I catch a glimpse of a silhouette shifting in the passenger's seat. "She said that she won't come out until I tell her its fine. She's doesn't want to attract attention from your cops."

"That's understandable."

Sazh and I leave Fang to her own devices and get into the meeting room. Most of the police members have taken their respective seats. The meeting table spans the entire length of the room, but still gives ample space for movement. Chief Officer Mizu's chair at the head of the table remains unoccupied, and behind it a PowerPoint presentation is projected onto the plain wall. I pat the beige sling bag I usually carry around and make sure I can feel the important object it contains before sitting down beside Sazh somewhere in the middle and wait.

Soon, Mizu comes in and claims his place. He does the protocol for any formal meeting before going into the important details.

"Today," said Mizu in his calm, collected voice, "we'll be going through a case that is currently highly-publicized due to the mysterious circumstances surrounding it." He presses a button on a remote control and the PowerPoint presentation moves on to the next slide. Hope's larger-than-life picture is shown. "14-year-old student Hope Estheim was reported missing yesterday by his father, Bartholomew Estheim. The sole witness to the boy's disappearance is Vanille Oerba, whom we have managed to get hold of for questioning later."

The slideshow flashes to the next slide, which shows a main street with a narrow alleyway adjacent to it. Inset is a picture of the street's name: Kumichi Street. "This street," continued Mizu, "is where the supposed kidnapping allegedly took place. Several of our members are conducting the investigation there now. We have no physical evidence as of now."

Without hesitation, I stand up and take out the sealable bag with Vanille's soiled handkerchief from my sling bag. "Sir, I have evidence from the witness, Miss Oerba."

Everyone around the meeting table directs their attention towards me. Mizu asks me to pass the transparent bag to him. I do so, fully aware that every pair of eyes is trying to take in the unprecedented spectacle.

When Mizu finally receives it he looks at it and then looks at me. "You said that Miss Oerba handed this to you, Farron?"

"Yes, sir."

"What is it, exactly? When and where did you get this?"

"It's a handkerchief contaminated with an unknown substance. The witness had handed this piece of evidence to me when she visited me yesterday at my apartment unit."

"You interacted with the witness?"

"That is correct, sir."

Mizu gives me a curt nod. "Very well. I shall send this for lab testing. Since you have talked to the witness before, you will also be part of the questioning session after the meeting."

"I understand, sir."

Once I sit down, Sazh nudges me at the elbow. "No fair," he mutters.

"Live with it," I mutter back.

Mizu goes through several more slides, briefs us on some other ongoing cases and dissolves the meeting. I make small chat with some of my colleagues and later tell Sazh about Vanille and her impromptu visit to my home.

"So this Hope and Vanille are your sister's students?" Sazh seems somewhat interested. "Some coincidence that must be for you."

"Hardly." I shrug. "Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction."

Later, I am ushered into the questioning room by Yumiko Shinze. Yumiko, my junior by several years, is better known by her nickname, 'The Face-changer'. Though she grins and laughs like a little girl (which she is, I guess, at heart), she can change her facial expression from happy-go-lucky to dead serious in a matter of seconds. This ability of hers becomes especially useful when she interrogates the men, who are at first charmed by her warm and friendly appearance, only to be slammed a bucket load of hard questions accompanied by her cold stare. Caught off guard, the men would stutter out some valuable information. They usually did, anyway, thanks to Yumiko.

Today, Yumiko has tied her long locks into a tight bun behind her head. She smiles at Vanille, who sits on the other side of the small wooden desk. Vanille returns the smile, though a little sheepishly.

"Hello, Vanille," Yumiko says cheerfully. I can sense that she is going to go easy on her. "What happened on the day you saw Hope being kidnapped?"

"You ask her." Vanille jabs her thumb in my direction. "I told her everything."

"Well, how about you tell me everything?" Yumiko takes out a packet of candy and offers one to Vanille. Vanille pops the candy into her mouth and begins sucking away. "Now, try to calm down and answer each and every of my questions truthfully. And by all means, take your time."

Vanille nods and gives Yumiko a genuine smile. Perhaps she has chosen to trust Yumiko on this. I can't be entirely sure. With a little bit of coaxing from Yumiko's part, Vanille tells her everything that I had heard her tell me last evening. Now and then Yumiko would look at me for confirmation, which I respond with a simple "Yes". Yumiko also manages to encourage her to sketch how the "aliens" looked like on a piece of paper.

"Can I go home now?" whimpers Vanille. "We've been at this for nearly an hour. I still have homework to do."

Yumiko closes her eyes momentarily and nods. "I know, I know. However, as much as you don't want to be here, you must try your best to answer whatever I ask you for your friend's sake. We want to find him as quickly as possible, right?"

"Yeah." Vanille looks down. "Well, there is something I forgot to tell you…"

Yumiko doesn't say anything. She reaches over to pat Vanille on the shoulder. Vanille looks at Yumiko with eyes wide with fear, discomfort and uncertainty.

Vanille inhales deeply before continuing. "The alien thingy, it made me…" Suddenly, the colour from Vanille's face drains. "_Ughhh…_"

My heart jumps to my throat. Vanille clutches her stomach and sways in her seat, on the verge of fainting. Yumiko fails to catch her in time: Vanille collapses onto the hard grey floor with a thud, vomiting a thick gooey mass of sludge.


	4. Chapter 4: Complications

**Chapter 4: Complications**

Fang frowns as the paramedics cart an unconscious Vanille away on a stretcher. Vanille's face appears deadly pale: her mouth is slightly agape, a little residue of whatever she vomited left on her upper lip. I feel myself shudder as the ambulance's rear doors close shut. The vehicle revs its engines and drives off, sirens blaring at ear-splitting decibels.

"Poor girl," whispers Yumiko, rubbing her arm. She looks as uncomfortable as I am. "What happened to her back there?"

I shake my head. "I don't know. I just don't know."

Fang remains silent. She clears her throat and glances at me. "Hope Vanille's alright."

Yumiko and I return to the police office while Fang goes off to the hospital. Another questioning session is due in ten minutes, so Yumiko freshens up in the washroom. She is to question Hope's father, Bartholomew Estheim. Since I am not involved in this session, I meet up with Sazh.

"Heard about what happened in there from the others," said Sazh. "Must've been ugly."

"It was." I pause for a moment. "Has anyone cleaned up the mess she made?"

"I cleaned it, under the Chief's orders." Sazh sounds disgusted. "He told me to take a sample of the gunk, which I did. He believes it is the same substance as the one on Vanille's handkerchief. I have a feeling he's right."

"We can't merely speculate. Wait for the lab test results to be finalized. Then we can have our say."

I knew from experience that speculation would only lead to wrong assumptions and false allegations, causing your overall mental picture of a case to become riddled with errors and all the less reliable. Once you believe that something is true, despite the overwhelming amount of evidence that points to the exact opposite, you will do anything to prove that you are right. When this happens, it does not help at all to have a huge ego.

I handle some paperwork on a few police reports that have been filed in recent days. There's nothing new worth mentioning in the reports. I later find Yumiko and she shares with me her questioning session with Bartholomew. I didn't have a chance to even look at the man, for I was too busy with my work.

"He's a very polite gentleman." Yumiko's cheeks flushes a little. "He wasn't a hassle at all throughout the questioning."

"What did he tell you?" I ask, lifting an eyebrow. Yumiko's eyes seem distant. "Any useful information on the Estheim kid?"

As if suddenly aware that she had been daydreaming a little, Yumiko falters to recompose herself. "Um… Oh, yes. Mr. Estheim said that Hope was a little more stressed out than usual when he left for school on the day he disappeared. Probably overworked from all the homework assignments given to him."

"He was stressed out?"

"Something like that. Mr. Estheim also said that Hope usually locked himself in his room and played loud rock music while he did his schoolwork. This only happened on weekdays. On weekends, Hope made an effort to spend some quality time with his father."

"I don't think there's anything wrong here," I say firmly, "but we have to look at this from all angles. We can't afford to leave any stone unturned."

Soon, Yumiko and I, along with a few others, including Mizu, are allowed to view the recorded footage of the previous questioning sessions in the meeting room. First, we watch the footage of Vanille's questioning session. We take notes as we watch, so as to compare them for discussion afterwards. The video shows an elevated view of Vanille, Yumiko and me in the small questioning room. Yumiko and I have our backs facing the camera while Vanille's face is within plain sight. The scene plays out like any other footage of a questioning session, up until the point where Vanille faints and falls off her chair.

We take a few minutes to arrange our notes before viewing the next footage. It shows Yumiko alone with Mr. Estheim, a bespectacled man in his mid-forties. He appears calm and relaxed throughout the questioning session, extremely good-natured and down-to-earth. He answers Yumiko's questions, which range from Hope's habits to his daily routines, with no sign of resistance or defiance. No wonder he left an impression on Yumiko. Truth to be told, though, I hardly see a resemblance between Mr. Estheim and Hope: they did not seem to share any physical traits. Even with my initial doubts, I know that I am in no position to dismiss the relationship between the missing and his father.

Mizu begins the discussion by asking each of us our general thoughts on the two footages. He then goes into the specifics such as the tone of voice and body language shown by Vanille and Mr. Estheim. His deductions go as far as our some of our better notes go: Vanille was obviously disturbed prior and during her questioning session while Mr. Estheim, despite his son having gone missing, seemed to place full trust in our police, opting to not let the case affect him too much.

Next, Mizu shows us the sketch Vanille had drawn. We each pass the piece of paper around, writing down more notes and making rational hypotheses as to what Vanille might have seen. I scrutinize the sketch of the creature when I finally lay my hands on it. The outline was done rather clumsily and the details appear as vague as ever. I may as well have been looking at a bizarre version of a stick figure. I take one last glance at the paper and pass it to the person beside me.

We discuss a little more, compile our findings and wrap it up. Though we do come up with new information, it doesn't break any new ground.

"I am sure most of you are exhausted," says Mizu, rubbing his weary eyes. "Let's call it a day. The night shift will review the existing material later tonight."

I pack my things at my personal desk and get set to leave. After checking to make sure that I had everything that I needed to bring home in my sling bag, I pick up the framed photograph on the desk beside the pencil holder. It's an old picture of Serah and me at the beach, eating hotdogs and our eyes looking anywhere but the camera. It has a timeless look to it, like the ones you see on display at photograph galleries.

Back then, we had no worries. We were just two sisters who had the most wonderful parents, living a near-perfect life that most people would love to envy. Never would it occur to us that we would be robbed of almost everything when our parents passed away. Serah and I still had each other, but Lady Luck was not on our side most of the time. To think that we even survived the first few months seems like a miracle to me now.

In the car, I phone up Serah. I tell her to meet me at the hospital downtown.

"It's Vanille," I say, but immediately regret what I let slip from my mouth.

"Vanille? Vanille Oerba?" I could feel, very strongly, Serah's distress. "Another of my students?"

"I – I'm afraid so." I quickly explain what Vanille had done in the case and relate to her the incident during the questioning session. "She's now in the hospital. I'm going to visit her. I thought it would be a good idea if you tagged along."

"Okay…" Serah draws a deep breath. "Hope's missing and now Vanille's in the hospital? This can't be happening…"

The drive to the hospital takes twenty minutes. In the hospital building, I find out at the reception that Vanille has been warded in one of the ICUs. I thank the receptionist and am about to enter the elevator when Serah shows up. She wears a thick wool sweater and denim jeans, carrying on one shoulder a leather handbag Snow had given her on one of her birthdays. She hasn't changed much since the last time I saw her.

"Where is she?" asks Serah. "Is she okay?"

"On the sixth floor," I answer. "I haven't had the chance to look at her."

We ride the elevator and enter a long corridor. In the ward, Vanille lies on the bed with her eyes closed, the blanked pulled right up to her neck. Fang sits on a plastic chair beside the bed, about to doze off. She looks at Serah and me with a slightly quizzical stare and stands up, yawning.

"What are you doing here Officer Farron?"

"I am just checking to see how Vanille's doing," I say with a sigh. I gesture a hand at Serah. "This is Serah, my sister and Vanille's teacher at school."

"Already met her before," Fang says casually, shifting herself into a more comfortable position in her chair. "During report card day, if I'm not mistaken."

Serah nods with a smile. "Yes, I remember you, Miss Yun. You were quite happy even though Vanille's grades were average."

"So long's Vanille's happy, I'm happy." Fang's lips turn sour. "Now, though, I feel a little anxious. The doctors are still trying to diagnose the problem. Nobody has informed me of anything."

I look at Vanille and grimace. "I'm really sorry. I can't do anything for you."

"You don't need to be sorry," says Serah, taking my hand and giving it a light squeeze. "It's not your fault."

"She's right." Fang nods at Serah and grins. "Don't worry about pitiful me. You've got your own life to live."

In the awkward silence that ensues, Serah and I just stand there, gazing at Vanille. We observe her chest rise and fall rhythmically with each shallow breath, her mouth twitching slightly now and then. Is there nothing I can do for Vanille or Fang? They look so helpless, so fragile. They remind me of Serah and me when we became orphans.

We bid Fang goodbye and return to the ground floor. The sun had set a long time ago, and the moon is visible outside the hospital windows. Save the receptionist and the cleaning staff, the ground floor is empty.

"Oh, Lightning!" Serah whimpers, cuddling close to me. "I don't know if I can sleep tonight. I need something reassuring to ease my mood. Too much has happened over too short a time!"

"I know it must be tough for you," I say, placing my arm around my sister's shoulders. "How about you stay over at my… I mean, _our_ old place? Just for tonight."

Serah's eyes light up. "I think that's a good idea."


	5. Interlude: Serah

**Interlude: Serah**

The classroom buzzed with activity that morning, excitement evident on the faces of the young students, who scurried about doing last-minute preparations. Their class teacher, Miss Serah Farron was helping them, moving the desks and chairs to one side and clearing the centre of the room for games to be played later that day. On the blackboard was written in big bold characters, '**HAPPY TEACHER'S DAY!**' for all to see.

Serah could not suppress her happiness, her smile glowing with the joy she felt. She watched as her students do this and that, all working together to make the atmosphere in classroom as festive as possible. After all, today they would show their gratitude to the teachers who had so painstakingly educated them with their heart and soul.

Hope and Vanille stood huddled together in a corner, the two close friends sharing a light moment in the midst of their rather noisy classmates. They were, as far as Serah knew, the most inseparable pair in the whole class. The bond they shared transcended their difference in gender as well as personality: Vanille liked to stand up and express herself, while Hope preferred to blend with the crowd and remain inconspicuous.

Serah approached them and clasped her hands behind her back. "Hello, you two!"

"Hello, Miss Farron," said Hope, avoiding eye contact but trying to be polite. "Happy Teacher's Day."

"Happy Teacher's Day, Miss Farron!" Vanille beamed, clapping her hands together and grinning from ear to ear. "I hope you like how our classroom's decorated. A few of my classmates and I put in a lot of effort to make sure that everything is perfect."

"What did I tell you, Vanille?" Serah tilted her head. "There's no such thing as perfect. You can only come so close to perfection through practice, dedication and hard work."

"Yeah… but we worked pretty hard. The deco is perfect in my eyes."

"I suppose it's perfect in my eyes as well. You all did a fantastic job."

Before long, a few other teachers that taught the class joined them. The Teacher's Day celebration began with a spread of food and drinks, followed by several thank you speeches by some of the students. Mirai performed spectacular magic tricks with gusto and skill. Shiro had the class in stitches with his stand-up comedy. Vanille recited a heartfelt poem she had written herself, receiving a standing ovation from the teachers and her peers. This was followed by a series of fun games that had every teacher and student participating with enthusiasm and euphoria.

Serah enjoyed every minute of the celebration. She had time to connect with her students and know them better. She engaged in lively conversations with them, telling many a joke and sharing many a thing about herself. Some of them gave her flowers and cards and cute little knick-knacks, all of which she accepted gratefully, no matter how small or large the gift. To her, it was the thought that counted.

It was only a few months back that she had began teaching this class Biology, a subject she herself excelled in during her schooling days. She often brought in live specimens of certain insects and animals for them to look at, arousing in them a desire to discover more of what nature had to offer. Sometimes, she would lead the students down to the school's Science Garden and ask them to see the ordinary through 'a biologist's eye', which thrilled them and pushed them to learn better. Asuka, Hanako and Vanille held the top three highest scores respectively in the Biology paper during the last exam. No surprises there, since the three showed the most keen interest in everything she had taught.

After everything ended, Serah stayed back to clean up with the students. She allocated tasks to each student and made sure they did their part to get the classroom back in order. None of them went about with even the smallest complaint. She had heard from the other teachers that they thought she might as well have been the most respected and admired teacher in the entire school. "Being kind and friendly towards them helps," Serah told them with a giggle.

"Thanks for lending a hand, Miss Farron," said Hope rather shyly. "We really appreciate it."

"Ah, it was nothing." Serah paused to align a table. "Even if it's a special day, I shouldn't be kicking back and letting you do all the tedious work. My mother would still cook even though it was Mother's Day."

"That's very nice of you, Miss Farron." Hope held up a long, battered cylinder-shaped container with a lid on one end in his hand. "I'm not good at wrapping gifts, and I was running out of time. Even so, please accept my gift."

Serah felt a small surge of emotions welling up in her chest. "Why, thank you, Hope." She took the box and turned it in her hands. "What's inside?"

"How about you open it and find out?"

Once she had opened the lid of the container, Serah extracted a rolled-up sheet of paper with a rubber band tied around it to prevent it from unrolling. She undid the rubber band and unrolled the paper. A beautiful painting unraveled before her eyes, depicting herself teaching in the Science Garden with her students crowded around her, all done in striking, life-like colours. She could make out and identify the faces of every student, every meticulous detail replicated with the greatest care and affection. Hope's face stood out from the rest. The illustrated Hope listened attentively at the back, his eyes filled with wonder and excitement. The flora around the subjects of the painting appeared natural, thanks to the realistic lighting effects. She could almost hear herself explaining away, showing her eager students the magical butterfly perched atop her hand.

Her vision blurred as she looked from the drawing to Hope. She bent down and hugged him, her tears flowing down her face and dampening his school uniform. Hope made no sound, perhaps too shocked to respond. She let go of him and wiped her eyes dry.

Hope blushed, his face turning slightly pink. "Thank you for being the best teacher ever."

"No, Hope," said Serah, laughing and hiccupping all at once. "Thank you for giving me this magnificent painting. I love it so much."

"Well, the truth is…" Hope closed his mouth and hesitated. "The truth is I have a little crush on you."

Serah laughed all the more. "Oh, Hope! You're way too young compared to me. Besides, I'm getting married to a fine man in a couple of months. You, on the other hand, have to focus on your studies. Go have a crush and fall in love with some other girl sometime in the future. Just not me and not now. Please understand that."

Hope's eyes widened for a second or two, then he laughed along with her. "I understand, Miss Farron. But would you do me a favour and not tell the others? It's kinda embarrassing."

"Don't worry." Serah winked. "My lips are sealed."

Back at the apartment unit that afternoon, Serah placed the gifts she had received on the study table in her room, all except one. She framed Hope's painting and hung it on the wall beside the family portraits, one of which showed Lightning and her at the beach, eating hotdogs and looking into the distance.


	6. Chapter 5: Questions

**Chapter 5: Questions**

The alarm clock rings at its usual time: 5.45 a.m. I wake up and hear the sounds of someone cooking in the kitchen. Obviously, Serah had gotten up earlier and is now preparing breakfast. I wash up, get dressed and enter the kitchen. The aroma of egg rolls wafts in the air, and I immediately feel my stomach rumbling.

"Good morning, Lightning," greets Serah, putting the finishing touches to the rectangular dining table. True enough, a large plate of egg rolls sits in the centre of the table, still steaming hot. Serah sets down two mugs of hot chocolate on the coasters and aligns the empty plates accordingly.

"Morning, Serah." I sit down and watch Serah take off the apron she wore and hang it on one of the hooks on the wall. "You know how to cook Mom's egg rolls?"

Serah giggles. "Yeah. Funny story, really. I was clearing stuff in the unit some time back, when I found Mom's handwritten recipe book, a little dusty, but still in good condition. I tried some of them with Snow, and he commented that they were absolutely delicious. Today, I decided to cook one of her best breakfast dishes." Serah sits down and picks up her chopsticks. "You still remember Mom's egg rolls?"

"Why wouldn't I?" I smile, feeling nostalgic. "They're my favourite."

We eat and chat a little between bites, making the most out of what little time we had before going off to our own jobs. Serah's egg rolls taste just the way Mom used to make them. I ask Serah for the recipe, which she jots down. She briefly explains the cooking process, adding in tips here and there on how to make the egg rolls just right.

I think about the lengthy conversation we had last night outside on the small balcony, which overlooks a small field where residents of the apartment usually exercised. We talked mostly about Serah's new life with Snow, the ongoing case and some other girls-only topics. Now that I realize it, we had more things to talk about than when we were living together.

"You know," I said to her, lifting up my head to gaze at the stars. "It's good to have you back, even for a little while."

Serah blinked, startled. "Why is that? I thought you were doing fine on your own."

"I was growing lonely," I confessed, laying a hand on hers. "I wanted more than anything in the world to have just a little company."

I volunteer to wash the dishes and let Serah pack up her things. Later, we go down to the parking area, say goodbye to each other and part our ways. I drive my second-hand Honda to the police office and see Sazh waiting for me at the entrance, checking his watch now and then and grumbling about something. I park my car and alight from it.

"Could've you come a little earlier?" asks Sazh irritably. "Do you know that we have an important duty today?"

"Yes, I do," I say coolly. "Look, I've come on time, Sazh. Just let me clock in and we'll get to it. No more delays."

I enter the premises and clock in. On my way out, I spot a group of policemen bending over a copy of today's newspaper. Yumiko happened to be there, reading an article aloud, probably – knowing her – for the fun of it.

"_…No evidence has been found,_" reads Yumiko in an admittedly good imitation of a professional newscaster. "_This kidnapping_ _happened just two days after Hope Estheim, 14, went missing under similar circumstances. Those with information, _yadayada."

Yumiko looks up from the paper and waves at me. "Hello, Farron! You read the newspaper yet?"

"No," I say, walking up to her. "What's the latest?"

"An accountant by the name of Rukiya Washimoto went missing. This time, though, there were multiple witnesses, who reportedly described the kidnappers to be bizarre creatures with spindly limbs, just like the ones Vanille saw!"

"Another victim?" I frown and glance at the article. "That isn't good at all."

Yumiko frowns as well, folding up the newspaper. "Well, at least Hope's case isn't an isolated one. There might be more connections that lead to more clues."

Soon, I get into a police car with Sazh. With me behind the wheel, Sazh sits quietly in the passenger's seat, looking bored. It's our turn to be on street patrol duty, which means we'll be going up and down the neighbourhood and business district, in an effort to deter crooks from committing crimes on the streets. Not much happens during our patrols, but it is better safe than sorry when it comes to keeping the area safe.

I drive down Gurido Street and see kids boarding a school bus at a bus stop. None of them looks in our direction. I point this out to Sazh and he snorts loudly.

"What do you expect?" Sazh gives me a lopsided smile. "Kids these days don't even acknowledge us cops. You'll be lucky to see one of them wave at us."

"Was it like this back in America?"

"More or less," says Sazh, heaving a long sigh. "Dunno if it got bad or worse."

Everyone at the police office knows that Sazh is an African American who used to live in Chicago in the U.S. before moving here to Tokyo. He's been living in Japan for so long now, he can converse in fluent Japanese. Even so, he attracts quite a few stares whenever he speaks. Can't blame him though: how often do you see a black man whose main language is not yours speak your own mother tongue?

Sensing Sazh's discomfort, I change the subject. "You heard that a woman was kidnapped? Witnesses say she was taken by some 'aliens', similar to what Vanille had encountered."

"Can't say nothing about that. People have already said too much."

At a junction, the traffic lights turn red. I step on the brakes and glance sideways at Sazh. "What do you mean by that?"

"There's a bunch of rumours going about, Farron. Rumours that don't add up." Sazh stares intently at me. "The local newspapers and TV stations ignore the rumours altogether and report the reasonable facts so as to not cause panic. The tabloids gush over the rumours and make up their own out-of-this world theories to attract readers. A bunch of people upload a hodgepodge of whatever other people want to believe on the Internet. It's utter chaos."

"Let them do whatever they want." The traffic lights turn green again and I hit the gas again. "So long as it doesn't interfere with our job, it's fine."

"Don't you see? The whole thing raises more questions! With all this nonsense, the truth is gonna be pretty darn elusive!"

I don't answer Sazh. He and I have never quarreled before, and I do not wish for a first time. I turn on the radio and let him calm down for a few minutes. The station plays some pop song that everyone's crazy over, but all the while I keep my eyes peeled on the surroundings outside the police car and don't bother to listen. We are in front of some shop lots with clear glass fronts, allowing us a glimpse of the occupants inside.

A beep emits from the police radio. I turn down the car radio and wave a hand to get Sazh's attention.

"_Calling nearby police,_" says a man's voice via the police radio. The static in the background muffles the audio a little. "_We have received a report on an illegal rally in Kimidoshi Square. The people involved are causing public disorder. Does anyone copy?_"

I pick up the receiver and press a button. "Copy that. Officer Farron of Shunko District speaking. With me is Detective Katzroy. We'll get there ASAP."

Without much thought, I turn on the sirens accelerate down the street. Sazh groans and closes his eyes. I make several swift corners, avoiding other vehicles along the way. I turn into Kimidoshi Square and spot a group of teenagers, most of them wearing black T-shirts and some holding up placards. Several other police officers are already there, attempting to establish order and disperse the crowd. Sazh gets the portable megaphone from the glove compartment and we get out of the car.

"WE WANT THE TRUTH! WE WANT THE TRUTH!" the teenagers chanted over and over again as one voice, raising their fists and waving their placards, which range from '**GIVE US TRANSPARENCY!**' to '**STOP TELLING US LIES!**'.

Sazh and I try to persuade some of them to leave, but to no avail. The teenagers suddenly cheer as a skinny, nerdy-looking boy climbs on top of a makeshift platform and addresses them. As he opens his mouth to speak, the whole crowd falls silent.

"For several days now," says the boy, gesturing his hands for emphasis, "we have been spoon-fed lies from the news media as well as unreliable sources from the Internet. We have yet to know the truth behind disappearances of both Hope Estheim and Rukiya Washimoto. There are people hiding things from us! And do we like it? Of course not!"

I grab the megaphone from a bewildered Sazh and switch it on. "This is the Tokyo Police," I say, my voice magnified somewhat. "Call this rally off or we are going to use force."

The boy looks at me and laughs. "Just because you are the police, doesn't mean you have the right to shoo us off. This is a public place, for goodness sake!'

A few of the teenagers jeer in assent. The boy smirks and continues talking to the rest. "I, Katashi Atkimosu want all of you to dismiss whatever _they_ tell us, and find the truth ourselves!"

Frustration got the better of me and I barge my way through the milling teenagers, who shove me back and swear at me. Over the din, I can still hear Katashi's voice.

"We are faced with an ever-growing mountain of questions. It is time we got some answers!"

I almost reach the makeshift platform. I feel someone yank my hair. I bite my lower lip so as not to yelp in pain. I trudge forward, stumbling over people's feet…

"So my fellow youth, let us make that change for–"

I rush up the steps of the platform and grab one of Katashi's wrists. "I order you to stop this immediately!"

"Farron!" shouts Sazh from bellow. "We can't arrest him unless we have a warrant!"

"I know that!" I shout back. I return my attention to Katashi. "Stop this, kid. Now."

Katashi sticks out his tongue at me. His cheeky expression immediately turns to that of horror. His eyes fix into a distant point in space, unblinking. "Oh, my gosh…"

I turn my head in the direction he is looking. The teenagers begin screaming and running away. I gasp as a spindly, grotesque creature snatches a girl in a vice-like grip. It lets out a blood-curdling growl and scampers off and out of sight behind a building, the girl's cries dying off as the seconds slowly pass.


End file.
